


The Only Way Out is Through

by SuperJupiter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, F/M, Slow Burn, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperJupiter/pseuds/SuperJupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin wakes up after an accident to find she can't remember the last five years and she's suddenly married to Bellamy Blake. She spends the next few years figuring out why the loved him in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up to Ash and Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [worldsofradiance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldsofradiance/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wakes up in a hospital room after her accident and is confused and surprised by Bellamy Blake waiting by her bedside.

When Clarke awoke she was lying in a white hospital room on a white bed with white sheets and a tan hand grasping hers. She moved to sit up and look at her foreign surroundings, only to be greeted by an aching pain in her chest and a roaring headache. Sinking her head back into the covers, she makes do with her limited view. The next thing she noticed was that the owner of the hand happened to be one very tired Bellamy Blake. 

Even lying nearly supine on the color-bleached hospital bed, she could make out dark circles mapping his cheeks and a haunted look in his deep, brown eyes. There was something else in those dark orbs as well, a look she had only seen pointed at Octavia. His hair was more rumpled than usual and his brow was creased with worry, but when he looked up at her for the first time since she had woken, the creases marring his features dissolved into open relief. Even dead tired, he was still oddly beautiful. 

"Bellamy? " Clarke croaked, surprise clouding her tone. 

"Clarke " he sighed in return. In a moment his face shifted again. He now seemed to be holding back a flood of words.

" Clarke." He started again, gentler this time. "The doctors said there might be some memory loss from " his voice cracked, "from the accident. You suffered some head trauma. How much do you remember, Princess ?" The genuine empathy in his voice struck her. It was so unnatural to hear it directed at her. For the first time ever he had used the term “Princess” without a hint of condescension, malice, or annoyance. _Wow... it must have been one hell of an accident to make Bellamy Blake give a shit_ , she thought, as she registered the content of his words. 

" I - what accident?” Alarm immediately rose in her throat, constricting her. “Where's Octavia? And Finn? And my mom? Did you tell-” she paused, trying not to sound so accusatory when he was actually trying to be nice for once. “Do they know I'm here?" she amended. She noted that he froze when she mentioned Finn.

"Finn?” He started, immediately jolted by surprise, “Why would you- " here he paused, his eyes widening momentarily in understanding, followed in quick succession by fear, pity, and utter, total devastation. Clarke was at a loss when trying to make sense of Bellamy's emotions. For once, he was actually treating her like a human being, but she wasn't sure that she liked it; it unsettled her. Her thoughts were interrupted by his next abrupt question.

"Clarke what year do you think it is?" Clarke rolled her eyes in annoyance. Just when I thought he was actually being nice, for once.

"Bellamy, stop playing games. I just want to see my mom," she rasped, exhausted by Bellamy's blatant avoidance tactics.

“Clarke, please, just answer the damn question.” Clarke could hear the anger rising in his voice. _This is the Blake I know. I can handle this._ The tenderness had confused her, but now that she heard the makings of anger in his voice she knew where she stood.

“Listen, Blake, I don't have time for this. I'm in a goddamn hospital bed from some mysterious accident. I'm tired and don't have the energy to argue with you right now. I just want to see my mother, damnit.” As she spoke, she grew continuously more winded, her rant at Bellamy drawing out of her what little energy she still possessed. Exhaustion flooded her, and she sank back deeper into the bed.

She could see the Bellamy looked visibly taken aback by her words, which only served to confuse her more. She shook it off, too tired to give Bellamy any real thought. She just wanted to see her mother, and instead she was stuck with Bellamy Blake, for fuck's sake. She watched him carefully again as he collected himself. It was another minute before he spoke.

“Clarke, the doctors said you might have memory loss,” Bellamy intoned carefully. His voice was controlled and even, despite the harshness of his earlier words. “Please, Clarke, I just need to know that you know what year it is.” He spoke slowly and deliberately once more. She scoffed at this. This was ridiculous. Another one of Bellamy's mind games.

“I'm fine Bellamy.” She sighed. When his face didn't relax, she answered the question with an accompanying eye roll. “It's 2010, I'm in med school at Columbia. Happy? Now how about my damn mother, _please_?” She couldn't help the sarcasm from sneaking into her voice. Clarke searched his face, looking for some signal of emotion. She found nothing. Instead she saw his jaw clench ever so slightly and his eyes harden minutely. After a moment he stood up stiffly.

“I'll go get your mother,” the deadness in his tone scared her more than anything. It almost made her feel sorry for him.

And as he stood up, she caught the gleam of a golden band on his left forefinger that had been previously hidden under her own hand.

“You're married,” she stated dryly, all the puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. She felt a pang in her chest, as if the universe were playing a cosmic joke on her. “You're married, and it would have taken years for you to be that close to a woman. It's - it's not 2010 is it? It can't be.” His pressed lips and haunted look confirmed her suspicions. “It's been years, hasn't it? I'm missing years.” She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. “And Finn, we're not together anymore, are we? And my mom? She's – Oh god, she's dead isn't she?” The tears were flowing freely now, and her words were stumbling over each other in a rush to get out. “She's dead, and I won't even remember saying goodbye. That's why she's not here, isn't it?” The thought of losing another parent left a hole in her chest that was a fresh iteration of the familiar. She could already feel the bile rising in her throat.

“Oh God no, Clarke. You're mother's alive,” the words were out of his mouth quickly, as though he only wanted to reassure her. It worked. “At least I can give you some good news today.” Clarke almost cracked a smile at that, her relief overwhelming her. He sat back down beside her bed again, and took her hand in his once more. “Clarke, I know this is a lot to take in. I'm really sorry about this.”

“Bellamy, please, just – at least tell me what year it is?” The fear and confusion manifested themselves in her pleading tone that compelled Bellamy to be honest with her. He looked at her deeply, softly, his eyes containing a slew of emotions that Clarke was in no state to interpret.

“2015. It's 2015, Clarke. And to answer your question, yes, you and Finn are broken up now. He was never good enough for you, anyway. I know it's hard, but I think you're a lot happier now than you were in 2010, if it's any consolation.” He stood up to go. “I'll send Octavia and your mom in. They're waiting outside. They thought it would be good if – well, never mind.” He turned to leave, giving her hand a final squeeze as he stood. When he was at the door, she called him back softly.

“Bellamy?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I- uh- just congratulations, I guess. On the wedding, you know. And – uh – I hope you're happy. She must be a beautiful woman.” She figured that just this once she could afford to be nice to Bellamy Blake. Needless to say, the words did not come naturally to her.

He smiled as a small chuckle escaped his lips. “Oh yeah, she's a real piece.” Clarke almost smiled again. I'm actually happy around Bellamy, for once. The thought surprised her.

“Well, I'm sure it was a beautiful ceremony; I'm sorry I can't remember it. You'll have to show me pictures sometime. I'm sure Octavia took tons.” She smiled at the thought of Octavia photographing everything in sight.  
He rubbed the back of his neck. “She wouldn't put the camera down. It was really just a small affair though. Friends and family.” Clarke nods, another thought coming to mind that she voices immediately.

“I have to say, I never thought I'd see a married Bellamy Blake,” she says wryly. At this he smiles slowly, the grin spreading across his lips little by little, culminating in the soft and slow nature of his reply.

“It just took the right woman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be kind, people, I've never done this before. Hopefully this chapter is a good length. I want to make them a little longer in the future, but I wanted this one scene to just be self-contained. Please leave comments; I need some feedback on this.


	2. Picking Up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia fills in Clarke on some things she missed.

Clarke could hear the muttering outside her door. She knew that Bellamy was filling her mom in on her missing memory. She knew from med school that it was unlikely that she would regain her memory. She knew, rationally, that everything would be okay, that she still had a life and friends in 2015. Still, she felt a thousand emotions – fear, hopelessness, anger, disappointment, curiosity, and, oddly, relief.

Despite everything, she was still alive. Even though a thousand things had changed, she was still here, on this earth, breathing and alive, blessed with the miracle of life. She reveled in her own mortality, grateful that she had even survived. She was sad about Finn, of course, but not exactly heartbroken. Besides, she was sure they’re relationship wasn’t irreparable. Who knows, she thought, maybe I moved on after Finn. Maybe I'm in a happy relationship now. The thought made her feel only a little better. 

Physically, she felt as though she had been hit by a train, which, she thought, was entirely possible, considering she had no knowledge as to the actual nature of her accident. In retrospect, she probably should have asked about that first. She looked up as her mom and Octavia entered her hospital room, followed by an unfamiliar brunette.

“Well,” she quipped, “It seems as though I made some new friends. Either that or I've also managed to erase an entire person from my memory.” Octavia and her mom shifted awkwardly at her words, but the brunette just laughed heartily. She was dressed in black jeans and a red leather jacket that looked well worn, with her brown hair tied back in a ponytail atop her head. Clarke was struck by the way her tanned skin seemed to gleam   
under the florescent bulbs of her hospital room, making her beautiful despite the harsh lighting. Clarke couldn't help but be jealous.

“Yeah, the only thing good about this mess is that you get to meet me all over again. Raven Reyes, by the way.” The girl lifted her chin in greeting, shoving her hands deeper into her jacket pockets.

“Nice to meet you,” Clarke said, still exhausted. “But I'm really tired, guys. Maybe you could just, uh, go one at a time? Or at least slow down a bit. I can't really keep up with all of this. It's a lot to take in.” She tried to give them a reassuring smile, but instead ended up wincing in pain.

“Right, sorry, Clarke. I know it's a lot. We're all just happy you're okay,” Octavia said, her eyes shining with compassion and love.

Her mom shifted a bit, clearly uncomfortable. Clarke couldn't help but wonder what had changed between them in the last five years to make her so nervous. 

“I'm going to get some food. I know you have a lot of catching up to do, and I don't want you to get too overwhelmed with so many visitors. I'll come back once you and Octavia have had time to catch up.” Abby smiled, but it wasn’t a full smile that reached her eyes. This one was tense and filled with the gulf of missing time.

Clarke nodded at her mother, grateful for the respite from so many visitors. She secretly wished Raven would leave as well. Though she was sure Raven was a wonderful person, she didn’t need the extra weight right now. 

On cue, as if Raven could hear her very thoughts, the brunette spoke. “Actually, I think I'm gonna go too. You don't need anything else to worry about, even something as awesome as me. I'll see you around, Clarke,” Raven said brightly, winking as she left. 

Clarke raised her hand slightly in an attempt to wave goodbye to her visitors. It only caused her an aching pain in her wrist. She cursed internally. Once they had left, she turned to Octavia, picking up her train of thought once again.

“Bellamy didn't exactly tell me what happened with the accident.” She stated, prompting Octavia to fill her in.

“It was a car accident. Drunk driver hit your car. You guys were lucky, actually. When we heard what happened ... well... we thought you were as good as dead.” Octavia swallowed visibly, her fear playing out across her face. Clarke registered the words slowly, speaking carefully when she had collected herself. 

“Wait, you're saying there was someone else with me in the car. Was it Finn? I mean, I know we broke up, but ….” Clarke trailed off, hoping that at least she would get to see Finn again, at the very least to get some closure. She watched as Octavia shifted uncomfortably, as if something she said had upset her. 

“Oh, um, it was, uh, Bellamy, actually,” Octavia said, quietly. 

“Bellamy? You're saying I willingly got into a car with Bellamy Blake? What, for fun?” Both of Clarke's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She and Bellamy must be a lot closer in this future, a thought which was infinitely unimaginable. Octavia shuffled nervously again, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. She paused before answering

“You guys are a lot closer now than you used to be.” Clarke could tell from years of reading Octavia that she wanted to say more but was holding back.

“Yeah, I can see that. You should really explain why I woke up to Bellamy Blake urgently holding my hand and being nice to me for once.” Clarke rolled her eyes sardonically, but underneath that there was a genuine question. 

“Well, as I said, you guys are much closer now.”

“So, what, Bellamy's now my BFF?” Clarke couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. The thought of that was just preposterous.

“Something like that.” 

“Well, things have certainly changed.” Octavia looked sad for a moment, then brightened again as if she had finally thought of a positive thing that could come out of this.

“Clarke, I should tell you, Lincoln and I got married. It was in 2011. We have a two kids now. There's Lea, who's three, and Aidan, who's nearly one.”

“Wow, that's amazing. I'm really happy for you. You’ll have to show me pictures of the wedding. I’m sure you looked lovely.” 

Octavia pulled out her phone to show Clarke some pictures. They both cooed over the pictures of the wedding dress, the ceremony, and the reception. Octavia made a show of pointing out Clarke’s place in the audience, and Clarke could see that her face was wet with tears during the ceremony. 

“Wow, this is really beautiful, Octavia, thank you.” She smiled again at her as Octavia beamed down at her. “And, of course, these have gotten a whole lot better,” she joked, waggling Octavia’s new iPhone. “In all seriousness, though, it’s nice to see everyone settling down and getting married.” 

“It's wonderful, really.” Octavia replied. “Though Jasper and Monty still make moonshine on occasion. We still have girls' night every so often, which, let me tell you, is so much better with Raven in the mix. And I know for a fact that you and Bellamy have drinking competitions every Friday.”

Clarke almost laughed at that. She could hardly imagine she and Bellamy being close enough to have drinking competitions on a regular basis. She wanted to reply with something sarcastic and funny, but her brain seemed to have stopped functioning under her exhaustion. 

Her only thought was “I could drink that boy under the table any day,” which she voiced immediately. 

Octavia laughed heartily at that. “You definitely could. But I think you let him win nearly half the time out of pity.” 

Clarke laughed again, but not with the same vigor as she had earlier. She could already feel herself slipping away into sleep once again. Octavia, being as intuitive as she was, seemed to sense the sudden change in her demeanor, patted her shoulder in comfort, and made an excuse to leave. In the silence that she left behind, it takes Clarke mere minutes to fall into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter isn't very good, so I apologize. But I promise the next chapter is better. I rearanged some things in the fic, so I'm planning for Clarke's art to come up a litte later, instead of in this chapter. Thanks to everyone who commented, subscribed, or left kudos; all of you motivate me to update. Also I'm totally obsessed with the idea of Clarke having an insane alchohol tolerance, so that will probably be comming up again.


	3. It came to this

The next few days passed in a blur for Clarke. She spent most of the time sleeping, with the occasional visit from Octavia or her mother. Sometimes Bellamy would come visit too, though she had the sneaking suspicion that he spent a fair amount of time with her when she was asleep, judging by the dark circles that had become a permanent fixture on him since she woke up. It was clear that everyone was trying not to give too much away about her life now; Clarke thought it was kind of them to give her time to adjust to her new life.

Earlier in the week she had discovered the wicked cut that stretched across her abdomen from the accident. The wound was still healing, but she knew she would be left with a permanent reminder of her lost time. Other little marks on her body reminded her of what had transpired in her missing years. (For example, the tattoo on her hip that read “CG 3.9.2013.” She would have to ask Octavia later about its significance.)

When she awoke on Friday, the day set for her release, she was immediately accosted by the sounds of yelling seeping through her door. From the amount of profanity she made out, Clarke was immediately clued into the fact that this was a Blake Sibling Fight, which was not to be interrupted under any circumstances. She had once seen them fight through a kitchen fire, apparently oblivious to the fact that they were about to burn down the entire house over Bellamy's dating habits, or lack thereof.

She could make out parts of it, with Octavia's voice coming through first.

“Damnit Bellamy... _tell her_... screw you,” she picked out through the door. It was obvious that they were trying to be at least a little quiet, seeing as they were standing in a hospital.

“Because that'll go over so well.” He mumbled some other stuff that Clarke couldn't pick out.

“It's not my job …. If this were Lincoln.....” 

“This is 2010 Clarke. She'll skin me alive!” There were undertones of grief in his voice, an unenviable sadness. Clarke could almost sympathize. He had lost the friendship that he had built with her over the past five years. She found it strange, almost, to be feeling pity for Bellamy, but in a way it also felt natural. In mulling this over, she had missed some of their argument. She strained her ears again. Now it was Bellamy talking again. 

“Oh yeah, great idea, O. …... hopelessly in love..... married.... throw in some babies for effect.” Clarke could pick out the obvious sarcasm in his voice.

“Fuck you... You don't have kids, Bell.” Octavia's tone was softer now, but her volume hadn't declined.

“..... barely fucking married anymore.”

“She loves you.” Bellamy mumbled something, and the rest of the conversation grew too quiet for Clarke to pick out. She thought she heard Octavia's laughter, and then the door was opening and Bellamy walked in.  
She closed her eyes and shuffled a little, tucking her head into the pillow so she appeared to be sleeping. The last thing she wanted was for Bellamy to find out she had heard parts of him and Octavia discussing her; things were awkward enough as it was.

She cracked her eyes open and watched as he turned something small over in his hand, kneading it between his fingers. His eyes were fixed on the object, looking at it with longing and sadness. After a moment he looked up, tucking the object back into his pocket. She closed her eyes quickly, still keeping up the guise of sleep.

He laughed lightly, then spoke. “Clarke, I know you're awake. You're a shitty pretend sleeper.”

After a moment of surprise at his abrupt statement, she sighed, her eyes flying open. She sat up in her bed, which she could now do without causing herself significant pain. _At least I can move now_ , she thought with chagrin. 

“Sorry. I just wanted it not to be awkward,” she admitted. “I heard what you and O were talking about, and I didn't want to get in the middle of that.”

He nodded, a small smile drifting across his face, but not quite reaching his eyes. “Rule 1: never interrupt a Blake fight.” He smiled a little again, the same kind of half smile. “So, how much did you hear?”

“Oh, not much. Something about telling me something, me skinning you alive, throwing babies, and that you're marriage is in the crapper. Sorry about that, by the way.” Clarke tried for light and funny, but her face betrayed the million questions she had. Everything she's been told about the past five years doesn't really answer any questions, instead just raising more. At the mention of his marriage, Bellamy visibly tightened, his whole body stiffening, his jaw clenching dramatically.

“Clarke,” he intoned, solemn and steady. “I know you have tons of questions. I know this must be confusing. But I don't think I'm the one to tell you this.” She could already feel the heat of anger rising in her chest. She hated this, being treated like a child, by Bellamy of all people. She hated the way he flipped on and off, one minute nice, the next minute patronizing and utterly aggravating. 

“Damnit, Just lay it on me, Blake. I can _handle_ it.”

“With all due respect, you can't, Princess.” Though he tries to be nice while saying it, his words still spark anger in her chest.

“You don't fucking know me, Bellamy. You don't get to decide what I can and cannot handle. You don't get to make any decisions about me! If I want to know, you'd better come clean, _now_.” She could see his fist clenching now in a desperate attempt to continue to be civil. It failed.

“Princess I know you better than anyone in the whole damn world!” His sarcasm was back, filled with condescension and mocking, giving way to sadness and anger as he opens his mouth again. “Jesus, Clarke, for fuck's sake, we're fucking -” He stops short, a look of agony overtaking his features. In an instant, Clarke isn't angry anymore. She can see that whatever he has to tell her isn't just killing her – it's eating him alive.

“Please,” she whispers. “ _Just tell me._ I just want to know what happened to me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in response. He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands. She saw him reach into his pocket again, clenching the object from before in his hand. When he finally spoke, it so low that she didn't even hear it.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that.”

“We're married, Clarke.” Clarke couldn't understand what the big deal was. She already knew Bellamy was married. It wasn't as if she had cancer, or anything. Now she was just wondering when they were going to send in her mystery husband.

“Okay? So, where's my husband?” she asked carefully. Bellamy's face wrenched again, indecipherable to her.

“No, Clarke, we're married.” He motioned between them. “You're married to me.” Her eyes almost popped out of her head. _Typical_ , she thought. _Bellamy's screwing with me again. I'm the hospital, for Christ sake, and Blake thinks it’s funny._

“Ha ha, very funny.” She muttered dryly. “I have memory loss and Bellamy Blake wants to mess with me.” She rolled her eyes. “You could at least come up with something believable!” She nearly snorted, looking up at Bellamy and expecting a laugh. What she found was a stoic and unreadable array of tanned skin. Slowly, her eyes widened in realization once again, and she felt immediately dumb for not catching on more quickly.

“You're not joking, are you? I actually _married_ you.” She couldn't keep the surprise and disdain out of her voice. She knew it was probably torture for him, but to her the possibility that she could ever be that close with Bellamy was absurd. “Get out.”

“Clarke I - “

“Get out.”

He rose to go, nodding silently. As he stood, he placed the object he had been holding on the table beside her bed. She couldn't look at him, so she settled for staring at his shoes.

“It's, uh, it's your wedding ring. I thought you might want it back.” She couldn't even look at the gold band he places on the table. “And, Clarke, I know that you probably never want to see me again, but I - I’m sorry. About all of this” She could see him shuffle nervously to the door, pausing one last time to look at her as he closed the door softly behind him, the soft click echoing around her empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was intense. Hopefully, you guys felt that way too. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Also, I'm thinking of writing a companion piece later on from Bellamy's perspective, so tell me if that's somthing you'd be interested in. If no one wants one, then it won't happen, but I'd love to do it if people are interested. As always thanks to my lovely beta (worldsofradience). I'm having a bit of writer's block, so an update might be a while.


	4. What we Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is released from the hospital; Octavia shows her something beautiful.

“So he told you.” Octavia stated dryly as Clarke changed into a new set of clothes in the adjoining bathroom.

“Yeah, he told me.” _Calm, Clarke_ she thought to herself. _You just need to stay calm._ The mantra played on repeat as she worked to keep her voice even and steady. As she tugged on her jeans, her abdomen shifted, causing Clarke to wince in pain. 

“Look, I'm sorry Clarke, I really am. I know you didn't ask for this. But you and Bellamy were _happy_. Really, truly happy. I know for a fact that your wedding day was the happiest day of his life.” Clarke clenched her jaw, hating how everyone around her had a million memories of her that she didn't share. A million memories of her and Bellamy, of a life with someone who she didn’t even like. Everything was just wrong. Her life was a puzzle where all the pieces had been taken apart and refitted into a gruesome rendition of the original. 

“Would you stop mentioning my wedding day?” she snapped in return, unable to keep the anger from seeping into her voice, “It's bad enough thinking about being _married_ to him, but you just keep bringing it up.”

“Sorry. Why don't I talk about something else,” Octavia muttered back, understanding the pain lingering beneath Clarke’s words. As she said this, Clarke couldn't help but glance down at the wedding ring perched on her finger. She loved it, oddly enough, even though it felt odd to wear a wedding ring when she had no memory of getting married. At the same time, it felt equally wrong to deny that she was legally married to a man she didn’t even like, much less love. 

It was unfortunate, really, that the ring in itself was beautiful to her, yet it represented something so horrific. In itself, it was perfect. It was primarily gold, but with intricate designs traced out over the outside and carved delicately into the band. The inside contained an inscription, “may we meet again,” and Clarke couldn't help but wonder as to the origin of that phrase. She assumed it had a depth to it that she would never fully understand.  
She found herself pulling on her shirt, having tuned out some of what Octavia was saying in her reverie. She was babbling a little about her and Lincoln, telling her a story about the birth of their first child. Clarke found it so foreign to think about the wild, young, college girl that she knew and loved having two children, being a motherly figure to people, instead of a constant fireball trying to cram as much alcohol into her body as fast as humanly possible. 

“... so, of course, we had ordered take-out that night, and I had invited Lincoln over to try and mend the gap a bit more between the two of them. I’ll admit, even with me there, the tension was dramatic…”   
For the first time since the accident, Clarke was actually clean and properly clothed when she came out of the bathroom, which was refreshing, to say the least. As Octavia told her story, Clarke nodded along as she followed Octavia through the winding hospital halls to the reception area.

“... and, dear God, you should have seen Bellamy's face when I went into labour. He was so shocked, he didn't even realize that we had time to get to a hospital. I swear, he tried to pull Lea out on the floor of your apartment. I was in a ton of pain, but Lincoln talked some sense into him and they rushed me to the hospital,” she finished, just as they were nearing the checkout desk. Octavia took care of the paperwork and led her out to the little red mustang that Clarke remembered from college. _Well, not everything’s changed,_ Clarke thought.

“Um, O, where exactly are we going?” Clarke asked, nervous about actually confronting her new life for the first time. Octavia shuffled a little, looking a little like someone who has realized that they have made a fatal miscalculation. 

“Oh, well, I thought for tonight you could stay in the city. You and Bell, you, uh, own a studio apartment here in the city as well as a country home up in Connecticut.” She paused for a second, thinking. “I guess you could rent a hotel, if you _really_ wanted to. I mean, you are pretty rich now.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows at that. Although she wasn’t opposed to owning a studio apartment and a country home, she was utterly surprised that they had actually ended up wealthy, much less that Bellamy had been okay with that, since he had constantly mocked her privilege when they were younger. “I'm a med student. And I assume Bellamy's now teaching history, so how could I – we – be rich?”

Octavia’s eyes widened comically as she winced, turning her face away from Clarke. “Damn, I may have neglected to mention that you quit med school two years in. You became an artist, actually.” As she spoke, Clarke’s face turned from mildly shocked to beet red with anger, while Octavia’s voice diminished slowly until it was barely a whisper. 

“I DID WHAT?” Clarke almost screamed across the parking lot. A few elderly women shot her some annoyed looks. “Tell me this is a fucking joke,” she snarled.

“Clarke, calm down.”

“I'm not going to calm down! You just told me I threw away my life's passion to pursue a hobby. I threw away a _career_. I had an entire life planned ahead of me, and I'm a goddamn artist.”

Octavia rolled her eyes dramatically, “Calm down, Clarke.” Though Octavia had truly tried to gentle, Clarke only fumed silently, radiating anger across the lot and glaring daggers at anyone who met her gaze. 

“Come on, Clarke, you need to see something.” 

She turned around, heading back into the hospital. Clarke followed her apprehensively, her fear of the unknown temporarily outweighing her prevailing anger. She couldn’t help but be scared of what was lurking there, scared of other things that she’s missed in the intermission of her memories. Her hands were shaking with impending anxiety, and though she clenched them into fists, that did nearly nothing to stop the vibrations from travelling up her arms. 

She found herself being taken to the pediatrics wing, which she knew well from spending her days there as a child, while her mother worked. Instead, she almost ran into Octavia, who had stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Why are you stopped?” she queried, now feeling more confused than anything else.

“We're here,” Octavia replied, motioning to the a large canvas the spread the wall.

The first thing she noticed was that the canvas depicted a beautiful rendition earth. More specifically, it was a drawing of earth as seen from space. There were stars in the background, forming artful constellations behind the spread of earth rising under the sun's distant light.

“Read the plaque.”

“For those without hope, look to the stars,” Clarke read. Clarke shivered. The quote felt oddly personal, as if the artist knew what it was like to suffer and then to survive. She felt connected to it.

“Clarke, read the rest of it.” Octavia said, clearly annoyed.

“Commissioned for the 2013 Children's Benefit. Artist: Clarke Griffin." Clarke paused for a second. "I painted this.”

“Yeah. You come here sometimes, when you're upset. I think it makes you feel better.”

“Wow. I...” Clarke wasn't expecting this. She stood and contemplated the painting longer now, knowing that it was her work. She saw some parts of it that were familiar. The stars were something she recognized, something she would like to paint. She could see her own style in those parts, in the twinkling orbs. The earth, though, was different. It was foreign to her, as if it had been done by another hand. She could never imagine producing anything like that. They stood for another minute, as Clarke tried to make sense of the painting before her.

She could feel the tears starting to pool in her eyes from the overflow of emotion. She had never expected for her art to be half this good, to be able to capture her mind more beautifully, much less displayed in public, and for a Children’s Benefit at the hospital. Sadness, too, welled up inside her as she wondered what had driven her to paint this poignant image. Her voice swelling with emotion when she thanked Octavia.   
They didn’t say another word on the whole walk back to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no Bellarke in this chapter, I know. But the next chapter does have some good stuff in it! I also promise some Raven in a couple of chapters. Also, if anyone wants Bellamy's POV please tell me! As always, thanks to worldsofradience for being my lovely beta.


	5. Places We've Never Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets a tour of her new (well, really, _old_ ) home. Actually, this is pretty much an entire chapter dedicated to describing her house. Sorry.

The road to her apartment was not too heavily trafficked, considering that it was Ark City. Clarke could feel both excitement and fear pooling in her chest as they moved closer and closer to such an unfamiliar place. The roads they travelled were familiar at first, and she recognized some buildings that had changed since she saw them last. It’s haunting for her to see the familiar landscape so quickly changed. It was still the same place, but slightly different, similar to the oddity she would have felt if everything in her house had been pushed over a few inches to the left. 

Eventually, they stopped before a beautiful high rise not far from the city’s center. It’s a very modern building, with large glass windows rising on three sides and a strange outcropping marking the building’s entrance. To Clarke, the building already felt like home. _At least future me has good taste_ she thought dryly. 

“Clarke, Bellamy is waiting upstairs to show you around," Octavia said, "And I know that you don’t want to see him right now, but please at least let him show you around and give you a tour. If you want, you can always stay at my place. And I’d be happy to stay here for a bit with you and Bell if that would make you feel more comfortable." 

“O, I can handle it. It’s just Bellamy.” She repeated them to herself once more, silently, as if willing herself to believe them. As she glanced down at her wedding ring, she also secretly wished that Finn were here instead. It felt nearly like a betrayal now that she knew she’s a married woman. Clarke pulled herself up to her full height, readying herself as if going into battle. 

Octavia pressed a small, dark, keychain into her hand with a single key dangling from it. Instinctively, Clarke knew this should be familiar to her as her own key, but she found it to be entirely foreign. As she and Octavia stepped into the building’s elevator Clarke’s apprehension only built, her gut clenched in fear. They stepped out, with Clarke trailing on Octavia’s heels, and Clarke nearly tripped over Octavia when she stopped abruptly in front of one of the doors. 

“Here,” O said, as she pointed to the door in front of them. 

Clarke nodded, pressing her lips together to form a tight line. She fumbled with the keys, struggling to fit the key into the door. But, before she could so much as do even that, the door swung open, revealing a very stoic Bellamy. Clarke sensed the wave of emotions hiding just beneath the surface, but she didn’t say anything. It would be for the best if they both just kept their emotions in check. 

“Hi,” he said, opening the door wider to let them in. As they stepped through the entryway, Clarke couldn’t help but marvel at the size of the place. _We must actually have some money_ , she thought, judging by the size and location of the apartment. 

“Nice place,” she commented, trying to stay as impartial as possible, though, of course, she loved this part of her new life, too. _I have everything_ , she realized, with a start. _My new life is practically perfect. It all fits perfectly._ The thought made her a little sad as she realized that she had lost all of that. Despite not having Finn in her life, this new Clarke was perfectly happy. 2015-Clarke had everything she wanted. 2015-Clarke was _happy_. 

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” Bellamy said. As Clarke looked up at him, she could read the sadness in his eyes. It sent a little pang through her gut, but Clarke only nodded in response.  
Bellamy walked out into the main space of the apartment, showing her the living room. 

“So, this is the living room. We have a couch, a TV, you know, nothing too special,” he said, motioning vaguely to the space before them. The room was warm, comfortable, and clearly lived in. She recognized Bellamy’s old couch, well worn, but still in relatively good condition. Her arm chair stuck out to her as well, making the whole place feel a little more like home. Her favorite part, by far, though, was the coffee table. It was divided, as though an invisible line had been split through the center. One side, hers, obviously, was neat and orderly, with a few books stacked to the side, her sketchbook and pencils laid out neatly, and a coaster aptly positioned in the right spot for coffee. The other side was a mess of papers and books, with graded piles reaching precarious heights. She could see red pens littering the floor near Bellamy’s side. She laughed a little at this, and Bellamy raised an eyebrow in question.

“This,” she said, motioning to the coffee table. “It’s so strange.” At this, Bellamy laughed as well, nodding to her. 

“Yeah, you never had room to sketch in the mornings with all my shit, so you made me move it.” He shrugged. “There was some debate, but we compromised.” They both paused, giving the space another once over. Clare tried not to feel too uncomfortable by the pure domesticity of what he had just mentioned. 

“Okay, what’s next?” 

“Kitchen.” 

Clarke followed him through an open door frame to a cozy little kitchen. It was modern, decked out with the newest appliances.  
“  
Bellamy?” She asked nervously. “I still - I mean, I still don’t cook, right?” Her question elicited a laugh from him. 

“Oh, God, no, Princess. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make a cooking attempt without burning something.” This made Clarke smile. _At least some things are still the same_ , she thought. The tinge of familiarity washed through her, adding some much needed relief to the strangeness of her new life. They walked through the kitchen quickly, and then he led her into the hall. 

“Bathroom, office, bedroom,” he said, pointing to each in turn as they walked past. When they stopped at the end of the hall, Clarke paused to open the bedroom door tentatively and peek inside. Of course, she should have already expected it to be just as gorgeous as everything else in her life. 

It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t exactly spacious either. On one wall, glass windows rose from floor to ceiling, covered with blackout curtains to keep out the light. Clarke was both immediately enamoured and a little confused by the painting above the bed. It was a print of Nighthawks, one of her favorites. The rest of the room, too, was peppered with classic art. She saw some Degas’ dancers, along with Van Gogh, Seurat, Magritte, Dali, and Pollock . There was a model replica of the Parthenon on one of the bedside tables as well, along with bookends based off Brancusi’s Bird in Space. Though she loved the way the room was awash in all her favourite artists, she was puzzled by the lack of her own work. 

“Nothing that I painted is in here,” she stated soundly, prompting Bellamy for an answer. He nodded slowly at first before responding. 

“You didn’t want any here. You said you didn’t want to be reminded of all the emotions that went into your work when you were trying to sleep.” Clarke looked at him as he spoke, while he stared pointedly at Van Gogh’s Starry Night, keeping his eyes trained away from here. She knew now what she had seen in his eyes before, the look that she couldn’t quite place. _Love_ she thought. _He loves me_. She almost stumbled under the weight of it all, at being unable to feel the same way, at causing him agony by simply existing. She didn’t need to be told that he was hurting, and despite her own pain and confusion, she felt the need to comfort him. 

Clarke couldn’t respond to any of that, so she joked around instead. 

“Dear God, this place is gorgeous. I must be a really good artist to afford all this.” 

“Or I’m a really overpaid college professor with a best-selling history novel out,” he smirked, his tone immediately becoming teasing and light. Despite the sentiment, Clarke felt a little out of place at his comment. 

“Oh.” Clarke’s face fell at this. If she had really decided to go into art instead of becoming a Doctor, she at least hoped that she was reasonably good. She figured that the hospital painting must have been a favor from her mother. Seeing her face so forlorn, Bellamy laughed, which only made Clarke angry. Before she could get a word out, however, he spoke. 

“No, you’re actually pretty famous. You should google yourself sometime; there’s a portion of the internet that’s pretty much obsessed with you. And I’m sure there’s a fan letter or two in the mail if you want to check.”

She smiles in return, but he turns away in time to miss it, instead leading on into the next room. 

“And last but not least…” He trailed off, his voice even and stoic as he pointed to an alcove leading in what is ostensibly the largest room in the house. 

“What, are there bodies in here or something?” Clarke joked lightly. Bellamy only rolled his eyes in response, but motioned to the entryway. 

“Believe me, Princess, you’ll love it.” 

She walked through without responding, choosing instead to see for herself, and was immediately taken aback. 

The first thing she noticed was the colors. The walls weren’t just red or blue or green, they were a myriad of colors that all somehow worked together to create a beautiful effect across the room. It was splattered with paint stains and bright colors. She saw the canvases next. Half-finished art pieces decorated the room on canvases. Blank canvases were stacked in a corner, with a couple of finished paintings lying to the side. She could only gasp in disbelief. 

Clarke moved slowly through the room, touching the various canvases one at a time. She trailed her fingers over the paintings, slowly admiring each one in turn as Bellamy watched quietly from the room, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Told you you’d like it.” She shushed him loudly, still moving between the canvases. She noticed many of the paintings featured open skies and stars. She saw one that was just of the constellation gemini, one of her favorites. Another was a rendition of the crab nebula, but with the color scheme changed. Still another depicted Scorpios. Even now, Clarke could see the dedication and time that she had put into these pieces, the sheer effort that she had used. 

“I’m going to order some take out. I’ll let you have some time in here,” Bellamy said from behind her. She nodded quickly in response, barely noticing as he left the room . 

Later that night, Clarke watched Bellamy unpack the takeout, laying out different options. She noticed he’d brought a couple of different things for her. 

“Their egg rolls are delicious,” he commented, “But your favorite is this” He pointed to something that Clarke could only describe as vaguely meat looking. 

“What is that?” Clarke asked, slightly alarmed. 

“Well, technically, it’s intestines.” 

“Bellamy Blake, you’re fucking with me.” Over the course of the past few hours, she and Bellamy had settled into a comfortable familiarity that Clarke couldn’t exactly say she minded. She understood now how easy it was to be around him, how well they worked together. She could almost see herself moving in here, platonically living with Bellamy as a friend. The marriage, though, she still couldn’t quite wrap her head around. 

“Honest to God - your favorite,” he said solemnly. “Scout’s honor.” He raises his arm in mock salute. 

“I know for a fact you were kicked out of boy scouts tying that kid to a tree - the one Octavia was dating… I forget his name.” 

“Atom.” He rolled his eyes. “Now, come on, Princess, try the damn food.” She obliged, albeit not without some more grumbling, but when she finally resolved to try the intestines, she couldn’t believe how good they were. 

“Ohmygod,” she said, hurriedly shoveling more food into her mouth. “These - are - amazing,” she made out between mouthfuls of food. 

“I told you so,” he insisted. 

“Shove it , Blake,” she let out after finally swallowing her massive mouthful. “You only knew what to get because it was already my favorite.” They ate the rest of the meal in near silence. Clarke was too busy stuffing herself to even bother with polite conversation, not that she could be very polite while she chewed sloppily on mouthful after mouthful. 

By the time she finished, Clarke felt exhaustion creeping into her, and she couldn’t stop the yawn that came out of her mouth. She watched docilely as Bellamy put the leftovers in the fridge and tossed the forks into the sink, staying comfortably tucked into her spot on the couch. As he moved around the kitchen, she got up to fix up the pull out couch, moving carefully to ensure that she didn’t rip her stitches. 

She had already put the couch cushions on the floor and was beginning to tug haphazardly at the couch when she felt a light pressure on her waist, pulling her away and steering her away from the couch. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked, as Bellamy stepped around from behind to face her. 

“I’m saving us both a trip back to the hospital. You can barely bend over without hurting yourself, much less pull the couch out,” he replied, both annoyed and caring. 

“I can handle myself just fine,” she shot back. 

“Clarke, just go to the bedroom and get some sleep,” he sighed. 

She looked down, at once flushed and nervous. “Bellamy… I’m not really comfortable with -” 

“What, don’t trust me, Princess?” He raised a mocking eyebrow. 

“What? No , it’s not that - it’s just -” She could already feel the heat rising to her cheeks, her flush blooming pink across her pale face. 

“Clarke, calm down. I was only joking,” She could read the smile in his eyes without even registering his upturned lips. “I had already planned on sleeping on the couch tonight,” he replied more gently. “Get some sleep, Princess.” 

He smiled up at her as a grateful look crossed her face. “Thank you, Bellamy,” she whispered back as she made her way back across the lonely room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this chapter is a little longer than previous ones. You're welcome. Chapter six is shaping up to be nearly double the length of this one. Also, I'm going to be updating less frequently now, mainly because I have work to do and also because I really want to win a bet, but doing so will require a lot of my time. Also I did write some of Bellamy's point of view, which I might post as just a short addition to this, unless people really like it. I'd like to get a little further into this story before I do that. (Also, I should just say that my Beta told me that I was satan after writing from Bellamy's perspective. Take that how you will.) 
> 
> Also, the paintings Clarke has in their bedroom: Nighthawks (Hopper), Blue Dancers (Degas), A Sunday afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte (Seurat), Face of War (Dali), Starry Night (Van Gogh), The Human Condition (Magritte), and No. 5 (Pollock). (Also, my headcannon includes her having Time Transfixed somewhere else in the house)
> 
> As always, thanks to my lovely beta (worldsofradience). Leave comments for suggestions, criticisms, praise, prompts, mistakes, etc.


	6. They Say the Nile Used to Run from East to West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy talk, shit with Octavia gets real, and Raven is an awesome friend.

Clarke woke to the smell of pancakes and maple syrup wafting through the air. She crawled out of bed slowly, pulled both by the delicious scent and the warmth of her own bed. Moving drowsily toward the smell, she groggily wandered out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, finally catching the smell of coffee along with the pancakes and feeling instantly comforted. She vaguely registered Bellamy in the kitchen until he all but shoved a fresh cup of coffee into her hand, black and bitter, just like she liked it. Clarke grunted in thanks, pretty much unable to form words, before taking a long swig of her coffee. By the time she had gotten around to pouring her third cup, she could already feel the caffeine taking effect. 

“Got any more of those pancakes?” she queried, raising her voice to reach across to the living room, though it was still raspy with sleep. Bellamy had finished cooking about ten minutes ago, since moving on to his own coffee, which was loaded with sugar and cream. He had picked up the newspaper, and was reading it carefully, with his reading glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. Bellamy just looked up over his paper. 

“Stack’s over there, Princess,” he motioned with his coffee cup to a plate on the kitchen counter, which was loaded with pancakes and topped with fruit. He had even put out the syrup and whipped cream next to it. She couldn’t imagine how she had missed it before. 

“Thanks,” she said, before diving into her pancakes without further ado. Once Clarke had properly fed herself, she took a spot in her old armchair, facing Bellamy. 

“We need to talk.” He nodded solemnly and raised an eyebrow for her to continue, putting down his paper on the coffee table in front of him. “Look, you’re not a bad person. And when we’re not fighting, we actually get along okay. But, I don’t -” 

“I’ve already called a divorce lawyer.” 

“What?”

“I didn’t think you’d be awfully picky, so I just called someone recommended to me by a friend a work.” 

Her mouth hung open, flapping almost comically up and down as she tried to come up with words to reply. It was astonishing to her that he had already went ahead done that. She wasn’t even going to suggest divorce outright at this point, just separation and maybe a path to eventual divorce, though she knew that eventually they would have to end up there; there was no other way she could see this ending. 

His brow crinkled slightly at her flabbergasted expression. “So, you don’t want a divorce?” he interpreted, questioningly. 

“No, no. I just - I didn’t think you’d want a divorce ever, much less had already called a lawyer,” she explained, the astonishment still clear on her face. 

He sighed, his face immediately becoming sad. She could hear the honesty in his voice when he finally spoke. “I don’t want to be married to you if you don’t genuinely love me. That’s not a marriage.” Clarke swallowed dryly, both touched and unsettled by his words at once. She never would have pinned Bellamy for a romantic, yet here he was, laying out his heart in front of her, even though it caused him personal pain. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. He only shook his head in response. 

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said, just as her phone dinged and then began to vibrate incessantly. She ignored it, reaching out to gently touch his hand, laying her fingers over his. He looked at her for a moment before pulling away. As if in answer, her phone dinged twice more, followed quickly by the sound of Speak Now coming from Bellamy’s phone, and Ride of the Valkyries coming from her own phone. 

“Taylor Swift is your ringtone?” she asked, as she reached for her phone. 

“Octavia,” he mouthed as he picked up his. 

“Hello?” they said simultaneously. 

“Hey, Clarke, it’s Raven. You know, the very hot and awesome girl you don’t remember,” came the voice on the other end. 

“Oh, hi, Raven,” Clarke said awkwardly. “What’s going on?”

“Octavia and I are picking you up to have a girl’s day out. We figured you could use one after all the shit you’ve been through in the last week.”

“Thanks, but i’m really tired,” she whined, not really wanting to go out today. 

“Clarke Griffin, we’re not going to bully someone who was recently hospitalized into going out, but we are _totally_ going to bully someone who was recently hospitalized into going out. ” Clarke sighed internally. 

“I’m guessing I don’t have a choice.” 

“You’ve met Octavia, right?”

“When have we ever had a choice,” she joked. Raven laughed, and Clarke was starting to like this girl already. 

“Okay, fine. Tell O that I’m not dressing in anything slutty. I can barely put my pants on” 

“Don’t worry, she’s bringing stuff for you to wear. We’ll be there in 10.” Raven hung up abruptly. Clarke groaned at the prospect of having to dress up in whatever get-up Octavia had decided on this time. She distinctly remembered having to wear a cowboy hat, boots, ratty jeans, and a leather vest (complete with a lasso around her waist) simply because Octavia was trying to hit on a guy with a thing for cowgirls. 

She looked over to complain to Bellamy to find he was still on the phone. 

“... I’ll make you some damn pancakes…. of course I did… don’t take her to a strip club… we’re technically still married, but we both know she hates them… Octavia, be reasonable… Oh, yeah, that’s what you said when you and Raven got alcohol poisoning and Clarke and I had to drag you back to your apartment… don’t worry, I will… Okay, love you too.” He rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone. 

“She’s taking you out,” he told her. 

“Yeah, Raven called me. I guess the two of them are going to try to drown me in alcohol and make me dance with strippers,” she sighed, happily slipping into the easy familiarity she had gained with Bellamy. She was happy they had steered away from the heavier subjects for a bit. 

“Watch it, Griffin, you’re a married woman,” he teased. She tensed suddenly, reminded of her awkward plight. He backtracked quickly at the sight of her face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”  
He was met with a tentative smile. “No, it’s fine. Besides, I’m a little old for strip clubs now, anyway.” 

“Yeah, tell that to the 50 year old regulars,” he scoffed. 

She laughed with him a little, striking up a tentative conversation while they waited for Octavia and Raven to show up. Although there was a little awkwardness, they stayed away from anything too sensitive, and Clarke was amazed at how easy it was to talk to him. 

The two girls were at the door before they knew it, with Octavia using her spare key to burst in without warning. “We’re here!” she hollered across the space, plopping down on the old couch next to Bellamy. Raven stood behind her with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. 

“If you take me to a strip club, so help me God, I will -” 

Raven only snorted and muttered something under her breath at which Octavia visibly stiffened and Bellamy’s cheeks turned beet red. 

“Raven, you need to keep those thoughts to yourself while I’m in the room,” Octavia said slowly, a shudder running through her body. Clarke quirked her eyebrow upward, looking for some kind of answer to the silent communications between the three of them, but got only stoic glares. Octavia was the first to speak. 

“You don’t want to know.” Feeling that things could only get more awkward from here, Clarke abruptly changed topics. 

“So, are we going out?” she queried. At that, both Raven and Octavia lit up considerably, with Octavia throwing six or seven dresses onto the table. 

Clarke was pleasantly surprised to find that most of the dresses were actually appropriate. One option was, as expected, extremely skimpy, but the others were much more appropriate for Clarke. Yet it took twenty minutes of the girls’ bickering for Bellamy to get up, pick a dress at random, and hand it to Clarke, with a simple “wear this” that didn’t leave room for argument. 

“Okay, so we’re starting with mani-pedis” Octavia began as they walked out of the apartment. Clarke could feel her eyes practically rolling back in her head as she listened to the rest of the list. “We’ll grab an early lunch wherever. Then movie in the afternoon. Then we’re going to Lincoln’s new exhibit. Then dinner and drinks. And then we’re going back to your place for ice cream, wine, and a movie marathon. I’m thinking we just do reruns of master chef. Clarke’s got five years of Gordon Ramsey to catch up on. ” By the time Octavia finished, Clarke already felt the exhaustion that she knew will have crept into her bones by the end of the day. She’d rather just skip straight to the ice cream and movies, a thought which she not-so-subtly voiced. 

“Dear God, woman,” Raven said. “You have a solid case of amnesia and you can’t even let yourself have a little fun. Besides, I promise, Girls’ nights are _way_ better with me in the mix. I have never let us go shopping for over three hours.” Raven sealed her promise with a grin, which served to make Clarke feel significantly better. 

“I like you already, Raven.” 

“Of course you do. I’m fucking awesome.” While Raven was speaking they reached Octavia’s car, prompting Raven to loudly call shotgun. Octavia rolled her eyes in response, chastising her for taking something from the girl who had just been released from the hospital, after all. Raven responded with an overdramatic sigh, making sure to make a fuss out of getting into the backseat as she languidly laid her legs across the seat beside her. 

“Yeah, make the cripple stay in the back,” she moaned. Clarke’s head whipped back in response. 

“Are you okay? You can totally have the front - ” 

“No, Clarke, the first thing you should know about Raven is that she has a prosthetic leg, which she will use shamelessly to get what she wants,” Octavia said. “She once took off her leg and made me practically carry her to show up some guy.” 

“Wick, Octavia. This wasn’t some guy, this was Wick,” Her eyes narrowed into a fierce scowl. Although Clarke was adequately frightened, Octavia wasn’t even fazed. “Besides, he was being a total douche that time. He totally deserved it.” 

“Raven, you tried to use your leg to get a discounted _movie ticket_ once,” Octavia reminded her with a sigh. 

“Yeah, it’s a pity that didn’t work,” Raven replied nonchalantly. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did it, you know, happen?” Clarke asked nervously, trying not to be too insensitive to the girl. 

“Shark attack,” Raven told her. 

“Raven,” Octavia warned. 

“Fine. I was working under a car when I was sixteen. One of the jackstands fell out with my leg under it. I didn’t have the other jack under the car. Thing went right onto the leg,” she said, rapping her knuckles against her prosthetic. “They gave me this baby instead.” Clarke nodded in response, letting her eyes drift back to the road. She registered that the two girls had gone back to their playful bickering while she kept silent through it all. She felt a little awkward as she ended up between the two, yet couldn’t help but also catch onto the friendly camaraderie between the two girls. As the two of them continued their banter without her, Clarke looked out the window, watching the landscape roll by. 

“Clarke, back me up here. Pulp Fiction is the best Tarantino movie,” Raven said, pulling Clarke back to the conversation between the two. Only astonishment was left as Clarke wondered how this conversation turned from Raven’s leg to the best Tarantino movie in a mere matter of minutes. 

“Actually, I’m partial to Kill Bill,” Clarke muttered, hoping that Raven wouldn’t hear her, just so she could escape the wrath of the two girls. 

“WHAT?” they screamed at her. 

“Have you even seen Reservoir Dogs? You have no taste” Octavia said as Raven simultaneously replied, “What, are you _blind_? It looks like that accident took your brain too.” 

Her only response was to roll her eyes. “Look guys, I don’t think my biggest problem right now is what Tarantino movie is my favorite.” At this remark, both Octavia and Raven had the decency to look adequately guilty, falling instantly silent.

Raven was the first to speak, with her words holding just the right amount of apology and friendly teasing. “Sorry, Clarke. I know this is difficult for you.” Octavia nodded solemnly, and as if it had been perfectly planned, Octavia parked the car and chimed in with a “we’re here.” 

********* 

Although Clarke usually hated being pampered (it only reminded her of her family’s wealth that she had been trying to escape for so long), this trip wasn’t half as bad as she thought it would be. She just let them massage her feet and hands slowly, feeling warm and content as they rubbed cremes into her skin and paint her nails wonderful colors. She let Octavia choose the colors for her, knowing that Octavia actually wanted to pick them out. 

The morning passed quickly through their talking and pampering, leaving Clarke thoroughly amazed at the vibrant person Raven was; she was like a hurricane, winds blowing hundreds of miles per hour on the outside, but with a perfectly calm center, the eye of the storm a perfect paradise for any who can get that close to her. 

“We have got to get lunch,” Clarke sighed after they were done, as her stomach voiced the same thought. 

They did just that, opting for a cozy Italian restaurant a few blocks from spa. 

“So, I know we don’t know each other very well, but we were good friends, you know, before the accident” Raven said, once Octavia had gotten up to go to the bathroom. 

“I can imagine. You’re pretty cool, at least from what I can tell so far,” Clarke said, and she didn’t even have to lie because it was undeniably true. Raven was undoubtedly one of the coolest girls she has ever met. And, because she couldn’t help wondering and knows a little small talk is a good way to get to know someone, she added, “So what do you do?” 

“Oh, I’m an engineer,” she shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Been doin’ it since I was kid, so just got my degree and went to work. The college classes were nothing, only took me two years,” she added nonchalantly, as if it was common knowledge. Clarke supposed it probably was. 

“That’s amazing,” she replied, truly in awe. 

“Yeah, well you nearly finished med school, so I think we know who’s the real nerd here,” Raven smirked at her. 

“Please, we all know the Bell’s the biggest nerd out of everyone,” Clarke laughed. 

“Do you even _know_ how many times I’ve seen that damn Roman Empire documentary? I swear to God, he’s seen it _twenty times_. I mean, I don’t even understand how you could even watch it twice, much less twenty times.” Raven moaned. Clarke laughed in response, just as Octavia came back to the table. 

“Actually, I’ll have you know that he’s seen that documentary twenty eight times,” she added. 

“You’re keeping count?” Clarke asked. 

“No, you are,” Octavia replied, rolling her eyes. “I mean, you were.” The mention of their relationship ( _marriage_ , Clarke reminded herself), sent her spiraling back to the the conversation that they had this morning. 

“We’re, uh, we’re getting a divorce,” she told them quietly, interrupting the happy moment, but still unsure of how else to break the news. 

“You’re doing _what_?” The two girls intoned at the same time. Looks of shock mimicked each other on the two faces. 

“A divorce?” Raven and Octavia shared a look that made Clarke feel immediately smaller, as if she were at fault for wanting not to be married anymore. Raven nodded once at Octavia solemnly, giving Octavia the go-ahead, apparently, to lay into Clarke. 

“You can’t be fucking serious. You will fucking crush him! I mean, I know you don’t remember anything, and I get that, but 2015-Clarke is completely in love with him. And he is so fucking in love with you. This divorce will probably kill him, and I mean that literally. Clarke, you have to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about what he needs. Because if this is hard on you, I promise that it’s just as hard on him. If you guys want to get a divorce in a couple of months, then get a fucking divorce. But you’ve been out of the hospital for all of one day. You can’t rush into a divorce like this, especially knowing what it’ll do to him,”  
Though there was mostly just passion and frustration in her voice, Clarke couldn’t help but let her words get under her skin. Rationally, Clarke knew that Octavia’s anger was aimed at her; she was just trying to protect her brother. On the other hand, Clarke couldn’t help but feel blamed for the accident. 

“Octavia, he suggested it. I wasn’t even going to bring it up until maybe a couple of weeks from now, but he already called a lawyer,” Clarke insisted as she bit back the angry retorts that rose to mind. 

“What? And you thought that it would just be okay to accept that, to not even try to talk him out of it?” Octavia questioned. Her stare was almost accusing, and borderline hostile. Despite years of knowing the girl, Clarke couldn’t interpret the emotions behind Octavia’s expression. 

“He said he wasn’t doing it for me!” Clarke protested, the anger rising up in her chest again, finally lacing itself into her tone. 

“Yeah, and you fucking believed him. Damn, Clarke, even now, you should know better,” Octavia spat. “You think he did this for him? He did it for you, of course. He’s a fucking liar, let me tell you. And he’ll do whatever he thinks he needs to for the people he loves, even if it means giving up everything that’s important to him. So don’t think for a second that he’s doing himself any favors, okay?” Octavia was standing now, her finger pointed angrily at Clarke’s chest, accusing her of things she had no control over. By now the hum of pleasant chatter that had permeated the restaurant when they entered had died down to near silence as multiple tables desperately tried to flag down their check all at once. Clarke could feel the gazes of their fellow patrons boring into them as they argued, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be ashamed. Instead, she only felt more inflamed. 

“Well what the fuck do you want from me, O?” She asked, standing up to face her. “Do you want me to live a fake marriage to try and not break your brother’s heart? Well I’m not going to do it. He deserves better, and I deserve better. So forgive me if I want a damn divorce after being out of the damn hospital and not remembering the last five years of my fucking life! You don’t have the right to judge me. And I’m sorry if not remembering the last five years isn’t a good enough reason for a divorce. I’m sorry if it doesn’t come up to your fucking _standards_.” Clarke expected Octavia to slap her, or at least be angry. Instead she just seemed resigned. 

“I don’t give a damn what you do anymore, Clarke, I just want you to keep Bellamy out of the crossfire,” she sighed, and got up from the table, throwing down a couple of twenties. She walked out without another word, leaving Clarke and Raven stunned at the table. 

As they watched Octavia strut away from the restaurant, the conversation around them gradually picked up again to a light buzz. Clarke almost sighed in relief as the ordeal came to a close. For a while, her and Raven munched in silence, content to just let the air settle after Octavia’s explosion. After a while, though, Raven spoke. 

“I know she’s a little different from what you remember. She’s been through some tough shit in the last five years, and she’s a tougher person for it,” Raven explained softly and carefully. “She still loves you and Bellamy both, but when it comes down to it, she has to choose him. He’s family, after all.” Clarke couldn’t say anything for a bit, still steaming from Octavia’s attack. Instead she nodded in agreement, pretending as if she understood all this. 

“For the record, though, she’s right about the divorce,” Raven started. Seeing the concerted (and slightly offended) look on Clarke’s face, she backtracked a little to explain. “Look, I’m not saying that you need to stay married forever or anything, but I think you should give it a shot. Promise yourself a month or something. I think you owe Bellamy and future-Clarke that, at the very least. And besides,” Raven added as she picked up the check, “you might remember everything in the next month. It would be a hell of a shame to pay a divorce lawyer for nothing.” They exited the restaurant after a minute as Raven texted someone to come pick them up.  
When Clarke finally processed Raven’s words, she felt exhausted from the emotional weight of the past few days. “Thank you Raven. I know I should probably give it a shot, but I just- I just -” Clarke could feel tears nipping at her eyes. She bit them back. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know how to live my life. I don’t know how I got here, and everybody wants me to be this person that I’m not. My life is wrong, Raven. It’s like seeing a friend’s face, and you know that you should recognize them, that you should know their name,” 

As she talked, Clarke worked herself into a frenzy bit by bit. “And you know that this is someone important to you, but you just don’t know who they are. It’s like my life is constantly just on the tip on my tongue.” The tears were forming now, and Clarke couldn’t stop them. Raven’s arms closed around her, tugging her in close. “I just can’t deal with everything right now. I don’t know how. And everyone expects so much of me. I mean, it’s not just the marriage. I can’t - I know I can’t paint like that. I’ve seen my art, and it’s good. I’m not even good at my job anymore, much less the rest of my life. Everything was so simple before, and everything is gone now. It’s all different and wrong…” she sniffed, letting her words drift off into oblivion as Raven rubbed comforting circles into her back. Even though she barely knew Raven, she knew that they were destined to become friends (again). Immediately, she knew what kind of friend Raven was, and she was thankful that she had managed to do so well in the future, at least in this aspect. 

Clarke couldn’t say how long they stayed there like that, with Raven just holding onto her, not saying anything, but letting Clarke babble and cry into her shoulder instead. Eventually, a little black car pulled up at the curb and Raven waved to some scruffy stranger that Clarke had never met. Raven stood, pulling Clarke with her, and leaned over to talk to the driver through the passenger side window. Clarke couldn’t make out what was said, but she figured it was something about her current state. She was grateful as Raven ushered her into the back of the car and helped her buckle in. She was even more grateful when the driver didn’t say anything about her condition. 

“Clarke, Wick’s going to take us back to my apartment. You can stay with me tonight, and I’ll take you out to your home in Connecticut tomorrow. You can spend a few days away from all of us, take some time to come to terms with things.” 

The drive was a relatively short one, though Clarke wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to her surroundings at the time. She stared at the black leather seats in front of her, carefully tracing their outlines with her eyes. When Raven dragged her out of the car and led her to an apartment, she only noticed that it was pretty small and cramped, yet cozy. 

Raven shoved her onto the couch, setting her in front of the large TV and moving into the kitchen. Minutes later she returned with a bowl of popcorn to find Clarke still propped up in the same position as she had been before. As Raven moved around the apartment, Clarke just started off into the distance in her haze, slowly drifting into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that this is pretty unrealistic with the whole amnesia thing. I'm totally aware that this is a pretty inaccurate description of amnesia, so I apologize for that. Also, I know that Octavia is pretty harsh here, but I wanted to emphasize the changes that have gone on in the years that Clarke is missing. I'm drawing a little from Cannon here, where Octavia was being harsh with Clarke for not doing enough (at the end of Season 2). So that's my crappy justification here.  
> Also, comments, kudos, whatever, are appreciated. Comments remind me that I'm supposed to be working on this. Sorry for the delay, but I've been super busy. Chapter seven is a crapshoot right now, so don't expect an update until Mid August. Sorry.  
> chapter title from the Killers song Spaceman.  
> Also, what Raven said was "As if she needs a strip club. Being married to Bellamy does have its perks"  
> As always, thanks to my lovely beta, worldsofradience.


	7. I'm in Love with Feeling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke goes to Connecticut to get away from everything and spend some time with her thoughts

The light outside had long since faded into inky darkness when Clarke awoke. The crick in her neck reminded her of the pullout she was sleeping on in Raven’s dingy apartment, though that feeling gave way to relief at being able to put aside her marriage for another night. 

Although Clarke was in no way a morning person, she couldn’t help feel strangely alert after sleeping for so long. Groping around blindly for the lights, she switched them on as she wandered into Raven’s small kitchenette. Immediately, her eyes set upon the jar of instant coffee with a note taped haphazardly to it. 

_Clarke, here’s the coffee we all know you’ll desperately need. The mugs are in the cabinet left of the sink. I also left a spoon out for you. And don’t worry - it’s clean (mostly). Love, Raven._

Clarke was immediately grateful to have friends who knew her well enough to leave out coffee and a (mostly) clean spoon for her. Although she did feel fairly well rested, she made herself just one cup of coffee out of habit, carrying it gingerly to the living room and setting it down on the table in front of her. Sitting down on Raven’s couch, she sipped at her coffee and pondered everything that she had learned in the past day. 

It was rough, of course, to have everything mixed up and jumbled in her life, but surprisingly Clarke felt that there were also so many good things in her life. She had wonderful friends, at least. Besides, Clarke thought I could always go back to med school and get my degree. I could still become a doctor. The thought brightened her mood instantly. When she was young she had always wanted to be a doctor, and despite her love of art, Clarke still wanted that for herself. Resolving to make a list of nearby med schools that she could apply to when she came back lifted her spirits immensely as Clarke took yet another sip of her coffee. 

As she thought more and more about what her prospective dreams, she recalled the artwork that she had seen in the hospital. Although the prospect of her art hanging in public spaces struck a chord within her, she knew she wasn’t ready to be an artist, not as the person she was currently. She wondered what had changed in the past five years that had made Clarke into a person ready to forgo med school and a stable career for a life as an artist. As if in answer to her thoughts, the glint of her wedding ring caught her eye. 

“Of course,” she whispered to herself. It made sense, now that she thought about it. After the death of her father, she had always been reluctant to put herself out there, to be open to exposure and criticism. But 2015 Clarke was in love. She was confident and happy with her life. 2015 Clarke had constructed her own life for herself, something which Clarke couldn’t help be jealous of as she on her friend’s couch in the middle of the night, staring out the window at nothing. (Well not quite nothing, but she supposed that someone pissing on the dumpster wasn’t much of a view). 

As she was constantly surrounded by happy relationships, Clarke couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her life to set her and Finn reeling away from their plan, from their future. She knew that he was going to propose to her; she had found the ring a few months ago (Years ago, she reminded herself), so she couldn’t fathom why they had drifted apart, not when they had been the golden couple who clearly adored each other. 

In an instant, she was already on her phone, pulling up his contact information. Because it was so late, she didn’t call or text him, opting instead for a short email message that she hoped would give them a chance to reconnect. Finn being who he was, he had likely moved on already; he was, after all, a total catch. She wrote the email anyway, despite her usual sensibilities. 

Hi Finn, 

I know it’s been years since we dated, but I’d like to reconnect. I was recently in an accident and suffered some head trauma, so I no longer remember the past five years. The last I remember, we’re still together. I know it’s probably weird for us to talk after so long (I’ve been told you are no longer a fixture in my life), but I’d like to get some closure, if you don’t mind. I’m still trying to understand everything in my life right now, and you’d be a huge help with that. 

Sincerely,  
Clarke. 

She reread the email twice, hoping she didn’t sound too clingy or like she wanted to get back together. She didn’t mention the marriage because she didn’t want to freak him out or make him any more disinclined to help her out. She didn’t even know if he knew that she was married, and thought it would be pretty horrible to mention it, especially considering how much he hated Bellamy back in the day. Taking a deep breath, she finally pressed send. Instead of stressing herself out over the contents of some stupid email, she turns the TV on mute and watches Masterchef, finding something oddly comforting in Gordon Ramsey telling people how shitty their food is. 

She went through four episodes in quick succession until Raven finally woke up around five in the morning. Raven wordlessly fixed two cups of coffee, plopping down unceremoniously on the couch beside Clarke as she passed a second cup over to Clarke.Though she didn’t really need it to be awake, she appreciated the sentiment. Raven picked up the remote lightly, turning the volume back on, and Clarke’s ears were immediately assaulted by the sounds of Gordon Ramsey yelling at some poor chef.  
They stayed like that for a while, finishing up that episode while lingering over early morning coffee. When they finished up, Raven stood slowly, her empty mug in one hand and her other reaching out for Clarke’s. She handed it to her silently. 

“Come on, we’d better get going. I’m going to go get changed. Bathroom’s down the hall.” she paused for a second as she turned away. “Oh, I’ll leave a change of clothes out for you. Go ahead and take a shower.” 

Clarke watched at Raven saunter away, pausing in the middle of the hall to adjust her prosthetic. After turning off the TV dutifully, Clarke followed into the bathroom, turning the water on to searing hot before stepping under the stream. The burning droplets hissed against her back, causing her muscles to relax at once, as if someone had zapped the stress from her shoulders. When she stepped out of the shower not fifteen minutes later, she felt infinitely better. 

She dried herself off quickly with one of Raven’s towels and grabbed the fresh set of clothes from the bathroom counter, pulling them on carefully over herself so as not to rip her stitches. As a med student (no, former med student) she knew exactly how important that was. When she finished, she gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. It seemed as though the relaxation she felt had come through on her face. Despite her dark circles and uncharacteristically pale skin, Clarke actually looked fairly put together, all things considered. For all that had changed in the past few days (or, well, years), Clarke looked remarkably like herself. Her blue eyes shined back at her, reassuring Clarke that she could indeed make it through all of this, that it would get better. Satisfied with her appearance, Clarke marched out the bathroom door, steeling herself with the years of discipline that living with Abby had taught her. 

Lounging across the couch, Raven sat, lazily throwing occasional expletives (in both Spanish and English) at the TV, where some spanish soap opera was playing. Her prosthetic leg was lying on the table in front of her, occasionally being used as an additional prop to wave about in anger. Clarke watched the screen for a minute, occasionally catching a word or two gleaned from her high-school Spanish class.

“Boo, whore!” Raven yells suddenly, startling Clarke. 

“Uh, Raven? I’m finished,” Clarke quietly replies. 

“Oh, sorry, yeah.” Raven fished around for a second before producing her prosthetic and holding it up in the air so it was fully visible to Clarke. “I’m gonna need an extra minute.” 

“Take your time.” 

She waited patiently as Raven finished attaching her prosthetic, though it ended up being more than a couple minutes simply because Raven would get distracted somewhere in the middle and return to using her leg as a prop to yell at the screen. 

“Okay, done.” Raven sighed. “Come on, let’s go. I’m taking you to your house.” 

“The one up in Connecticut?” Clarke queried. 

“Yeah, that one. Now get your cute butt in the car before I have to drag you. It’s a bit of a drive.” 

Clarke did as she was told, making her way down to the car fairly quickly, considering her operation and all. As she slid into the passenger seat, Raven passed her a cd case marked in red sharpie with “Ultimate Road Trip Car Mix 1.” 

“I know you don’t remember, but we made these when we were both, uh..” Raven paused, and Clarke thought this was the first time that she’d seen Raven be awkward, “ … suffering together through some shit. We basically took some time to ourselves and got to know each other. These were kind of the result of that.” 

Clarke nodded slowly, putting the disk into Raven’s cd player. The first song blasted loudly through the speakers, starting with a familiar guitar opening that Clarke couldn’t help but sing along to. A smile plastered itself to her face, and by the time the lyrics came in, she’s singing along loudly and poorly to the song, with Raven singing alongside her. 

“He seemed impressed by the way you came in….” 

They spent the rest of the car ride like that, singing along to the songs they both knew by heart. Some of them were clearly Clarke’s picks, namely some of the slower classical ones. Some were clearly Raven’s, namely the ones solely in Spanish. But most were an amalgam of the two of them. Some of them were songs that she couldn’t remember, presumably having come out after her accident, but Raven would give her a core dump on the artists and songs every time she couldn’t sing along. 

As Clarke was putting the third one in, Raven swallowed loudly and took a deep breath. 

“Look, Clarke, I know it’s hard for you. I understand that. I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but the rest of us all care about you, okay? We all need you too. I know that it isn’t the best situation for you, but I believe in you, Clarke. You’ve been through some tough shit in the past five years, but you got through all of that, and you can get through this. So when people bring all this shit up that you can’t remember, you have to know that you’ve been through that stuff before. All that stuff you can’t remember, it’s all in the past. I just want you to know that you’re going to get through this. You’re gonna be just fine.” 

The whole time she was speaking, Raven never lifted her eyes from the road. For a moment silence filled the cabin of the car, Raven’s words hanging between them awkwardly. Then, instantly, Clarke sighed softly, the air changing in accordance. 

“Thank you, Raven. I know we just met, but I feel like I can trust you. So far, you’ve been so good to me. I can’t thank you enough,” Clarke could feel the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. For once, she felt that someone cared about her, for one since she awoke in that cold white hospital, she felt like someone was looking out for her without pity or fear. Raven didn’t pity; she just understood. In an instant moment of clarity, Clarke understood why her and Raven were such good friends. 

“I know, Clarke, I know.” For once, Clarke believed it. 

They finished the drive in relative silence so that when they finally got out of the car, the neighbourhood noise was like a front row ticket to a rock concert in their sensitive ears. As they climbed out of the small car and made their way up the steps to the small brick house, Clarke couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. For once, she would be able to get away from it all, to be disconnected from the hectic mess that her life had become overnight. 

She climbed the porch steps tentatively, running her finger along the painted wood, which was still in near perfect condition. As Raven plucked a key from underneath a potted plant on the porch and fiddled with it, Clarke took in the rest of the house. It wasn’t too large, but it wasn’t too small either, with two stories clearly accented across the skyline. Though it wasn’t the epitome of modern, it was still relatively new, though with a more traditional architecture. 

The inside, too, was fairly traditional in style, Clarke noticed when Raven eventually opened the door (though not without some pointed expletives). Some of her father’s favourite chairs were accented in the living room, with classical hardwood furniture populating much of the first floor. Clarke could feel her heart skip a beat as she recognized some of the chairs from her childhood mixed in with the Blakes’ well worn furniture. 

It made her sad in a way, to see the whole house in front of her, the remnants of a life well lived, of a life well worn, while knowing that this would come to a quick end. She couldn’t help but feel that this was partially her fault. 

“Do you want me to stay here with you?” Raven’s voice echoed throughout the front hall. 

“That’s fine, Raven. I really need some alone time.” She really did, and at least knew that this was part of the truth. It was oddly refreshing to be able to say something honestly without hurting anyone around her. 

As Raven led her around the house, she barely listened. The house was pretty standard, with a kitchen, two bedrooms, and two baths. It wasn’t too different from her childhood home, in fact, and Clarke couldn’t help wondering if that was part of the reason that they had picked it. Even as she thought that, she felt that it was strange that she had so easily slipped into referring to the two of them as a unit. 

“Okay, so you’re all good here?” Raven’s voice startled her from her thoughts. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” 

“Good. Don’t forget to call us every couple of days. It’s always reassuring to know that your best friend isn’t dead.” 

“Will do” Raven’s car pulled quickly out of the driveway, as her screeching tires broke the silence of the suburban neighborhood. As she watched the car scream wildly down the streets outside her house, Clarke couldn’t help but also feel a little sad. Although she needed some time to think things through, she hadn’t gotten this far yet, hadn’t contemplated what she would do when she was all alone. 

Though of course she was happy to be far away from the Blake siblings, she still felt isolated without them. Afterall, it had now been nearly a third of her life that she had known the two of them, so it did, of course, feel wrong, somehow, to be at odds with both of them at once. To make things worse, she knew that Octavia was looking out for Bellamy, and she knew that Octavia was just trying to be a good sister, but she still could not help but feel a little betrayed that her best friend had chosen to attack her for something that wasn’t even her fault. 

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t thankful to still be alive, because she was, of course, so happy that she at least didn’t die, but she was, after all, married to Bellamy. It wasn’t as though she hated him, per say, but she didn’t exactly like him either, and she would be lying if she said the thought of sleeping with Bellamy didn’t give her at least some butterflies. To make things worse, she could actually see their dynamic now, how the vicious arguing could give way to passionate sex, how the easy familiarity could translate to cuddling on the couch, how the witty banter could be interpreted as flirting. It was scary to be so intimate with someone, and yet barely know them. 

With all these thoughts swirling around in her mind, she did the one thing that had always served to calm her down; she painted. At first it was just angry lines and dashes, filling the canvas with pollock-esque splatters and random variations. But as she calmed down more and more, it slowly translated into an actual image. She began to cluster colors together unintentionally, laying out a scene in blues and greens. As she focused more on what she was actually painting, she shaped the green earth and the blue see, creating some sort of amalgam of Earthy abstraction. 

By the time she was finished, she was starving, even though she and Raven had completely pigged out at a gas station for lunch only a few hours before. Clarke had never been one to cook much, but she was able to get by with heating up some frozen pizzas, without even thinking to look at the expiration date. (Sue her, but she was just too tired to care, okay? ) 

After cleaning up the plates from the living room, where she had watched almost an entire season of Masterchef, Clarke quickly headed upstairs to grab some things from her closet. Although she had already seen the master bedroom, she couldn’t bear to sleep there tonight because she knew it would only remind her of all the things that she had been through. Instead she kept her eyes focused on the closet, pulling out crinkled linens for the second bedroom. It took her moments to dress the bed and fall back onto the cozy sheets beneath her and promptly pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize for my lateness. This is un-betad this time. My beta is pretty stressed out over other stuff right now, so I didn't ask them to beta this one for their sanity. I'll be honest, I didn't edit this one much at all, so it's pretty much a dump of Clarke thinking about stuff. I know it's pretty dry, and it mostly works as a filler chapter here because I need to set some things up. Sorry about that. Also, school and stuff is making me crazy, so don't expect an update any time soon. I doubt I'll get anything else even written until November, and I haven't even started Chapter 8. Mostly this is just a huge apology to everyone who is still reading this as well as a huge thanks to all of you. As always, I love seeing your comments, kudos, subscriptions, or whatever. Feel free to be totally critical in the comments; it helps me improve generally. I have a basic plan for the story but if anyone had suggestions I'd love the help.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is my first fan fic ever, so please be kind. I really don't know what i'm doing, so please leave comments with suggestions, or anything really. Obviously, I don't own these characters, because if I did I would be very rich right now. Also, tons of thanks to worldsofradiance for being my lovely beta. I'm thinking of writing a companion work to this from Bellamy's pov if anyone wants it, so tell me what you think!


End file.
